


High Fructose Corn Syrup

by theorchardofbones



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, Birthday, M/M, Teensy bit of angst with a happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:27:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23335369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theorchardofbones/pseuds/theorchardofbones
Summary: It's Prompto's birthday... and he's pretty sure nobody at the office knows, or even cares.He's wrong.
Relationships: Prompto Argentum/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 7
Kudos: 104





	High Fructose Corn Syrup

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aequoria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aequoria/gifts).



> Written for my wonderful friend. Happy Birthday, Bish!
> 
> This takes place in a universe the two of us have been noodling at for a while, but have never really gotten around to bringing to fruition.

The building is a little scary when it’s empty.

By day, when the office is filled with workers clacking away on their computer keyboards or using their lilting customer service voices on the phone, it’s a hive of activity. This early in the morning, before everybody starts, it feels like the set of some techno horror movie about serial killers and cyber stalking.

But maybe that’s just Prompto. He’s always been a little given to letting his imagination run away with him — a strength back in school, when teachers encouraged that sort of thing, but not so much as a grownup when there are errands to run and quotas to be met.

If he walks to his desk a little more briskly than usual, he tells himself it’s got nothing to do with that little thud he heard in the hallway, or the way the shadows play in the doorways of the empty rooms he passes. He’s just… eager to get his day started. That’s why he’s in so early, after all.

Well…  _ That, _ and he didn’t want to be home alone this morning, not today. A few months after moving to this city and he’s finally starting to find his footing here, but he doesn’t exactly have  _ friends _ yet, and anyway he’s got a  _ ton _ of work to catch up on.

It kind of backfired, though, he thinks as he slumps into the chair at his desk. He’s here so early the place isn’t even fully open yet, and other than the doorman and the janitor, he hasn’t seen another soul.

‘Happy birthday to me,’ he murmurs, firing up his computer.

His desktop displays nothing to mark the occasion — his to-do list is still pinned there, growing longer by the day, and the folder marked ‘urgent’ has been joined by another with the label of ‘super urgent’.

If he can’t spend the day celebrating, maybe he can finally convince himself to get a start on those deadlines. You know, those ones coming up in the next few weeks.

It’s a wonder they haven’t fired him yet…

* * *

Normally, Ignis pays little heed to the social alerts that pop up on his e-calendar. Those ones are highlighted in grey, symbolising their low position on his hierarchy of urgency; next is green for personal engagements, yellow for routine office tasks, and orange for meetings and the like. Red is for tasks that are overdue, although he has yet to let things escalate to that point in his years in management.

The e-calendar is populated with all sorts of events that he’d do away with entirely, if he could — office parties, out-of-office parties, invitations to engagement parties… It’s not that he doesn’t  _ care _ about his team, he’s just seen little point in socialising with them when he spends so much of his day running around making sure they’re doing their job.

He moves his mouse, out of habit, to hit the  _ x _ on the popup notification on his screen, and he almost does so with little thought — until he sees Prompto Argentum’s profile picture on the alert.

How many birthday alerts has Ignis received and dismissed, without even reading them? How many of his team’s birthdays have passed by without any awareness on his part?

So why is it  _ this _ one that gives him pause, even if only for a moment?

He hesitates with the pointer over the  _ x. _ It doesn’t tell him what age Prompto turned today — his calendar is synchronised with the company’s intranet, so it only shows him whatever his colleagues have added to their profiles. It shouldn’t even  _ matter _ how old Prompto is, as of today or  _ ever; _ Ignis should by rights have dismissed the popup by now, blind to the information contained therein. And yet…

Prompto could scarcely be called punctual, and if Ignis were to get a penny for every time he happens upon Prompto staring at his phone instead of working, he could happily retire by the end of the year. The trainee gets work in on time, certainly, but it’s usually by the skin of his teeth and often  _ riddled _ with typos.

By rights, Ignis should have written up Prompto a number of times — should have called for his dismissal more than once — but he’s so  _ earnest _ and eager to please that it’s difficult to be mad at him for long. He brings so much life into the office each day that the place feels empty without him. Ignis would struggle to deny that he’d miss Prompto if he ever left.

Even if Prompto  _ does _ drive him to distraction with his incessant humming.

Ignis sighs and closes the alert. There may be something about Prompto that he can’t quite put his finger on, but a habit is a habit. This is just another colleague’s birthday that shall pass by elsewhere in the office, with Ignis  _ blissfully _ unaware.

* * *

‘Happy birthday, dude!’

If there’s one thing that should buoy Prompto’s spirits, it’s that even hundreds of miles away, Noct still took the time to get in touch. It’s dark out on Noct’s end of the video call. Just another reminder of the distance between them.

Prompto finds himself having to force a smile in answer. He’s celebrated the day so far by spilling water all over himself and getting chewed out by Ignis over email for not even starting one of his many pending tasks, so it hasn’t exactly been a birthday to cherish.

‘Thanks. You know you didn’t need to go to all the trouble of calling, though, right?’

He watches the minute shift in Noct’s expression as he listens — the hint of a frown.

‘Of course I’m gonna call you,’ Noct says. ‘It’s your birthday, man.’

For Prompto’s  _ last _ birthday, Noct booked an entire arcade and had it catered by their favourite American-style diner. It still stings just to imagine how much it all must have cost.

‘Hey.’

The sound of Noct’s voice draws his eyes back up to the screen. Noct’s leaning in close, as if he would if they were together face-to-face.

‘You’re okay, aren’t you? You’d tell me if you weren’t?’

It’s not like Prompto’s not okay — but he’s not  _ not _ okay, either. Or something. Moving here just… doesn’t exactly match up to life as a budding photographer in Tokyo.

He sighs. What he’s doing right now, is he’s being a whiny baby. And he told himself he’d stop doing that right around the time Ignis yelled at him for being late twice in a row and he barely made it to the restroom before the tears had started to fall.

‘I’m okay,’ he says, pouring conviction he doesn’t feel into his voice. ‘It’s just a little lonely, I guess. It was somebody’s birthday the week I started here and everybody pooled in to get a cake and flowers… I don’t know. I guess I just thought, maybe…’

‘They’ll love you when they get to know you,’ Noct interjects. ‘You just need to start putting yourself out there, dude.’

There’s a thought — Noct, of all people, telling the class clown to put himself out there.

It’s not like Prompto’s shy. It’s just… a little bit of an adjustment to go from being a hotshot photographer to being a trainee constantly one big mistake away from getting fired.

‘Ahem.’

It’s Prompto’s break, so it’s not like he’s breaking any rules by chatting to Noct — but just the sound of Ignis’s voice interrupting fills Prompto with the distinct guilty feeling that he’s about to get in trouble.

‘Gotta go,’ he says in a rush. ‘Catch you later?’

Noct gives a quick nod, and the screen goes black.

Slowly, heart in his throat, Prompto swivels his chair around. Ignis doesn’t look  _ mad, _ at least, although sometimes it’s impossible to tell for sure.

‘Apologies for interrupting,’ Ignis says. ‘I have some post to go out, if you’d like to stretch your legs. Make a long lunch of it.’

A long lunch? What’s the catch?

Prompto tries to read Ignis’s expression for some sort of clue. Maybe it’s a trick — to see if Prompto will jump at the chance to slack off. Or maybe Ignis just wants him out of his hair. Or  _ maybe, _ Prompto’s about to get fired, and this is all some convoluted plan to—

Prompto draws in a slow breath and centres himself. It’s just an errand. There’s zero reason to get himself so worked up.

‘Sure,’ he says brightly. ‘Happy to help.’

* * *

With a little time to prepare, Ignis might have gotten up early and baked something from scratch. He certainly would have splurged on a card at the very least. Still, beggars can’t be choosers, and for all that he could scrounge up around the office, as he inspects his handiwork he doesn’t believe he did too shabby of a job.

He doesn’t know why it matters so much, really.

He tells himself it doesn’t, as he slips away from Prompto’s desk and busies himself with some inane task that keeps him within earshot.

Prompto should be back at any moment.

* * *

It’s waiting for Prompto when he strolls back to his desk with a caramel frappe in hand — a small treat for himself on his way from the post office. He almost doesn’t know what he’s looking at until he’s right in front of it.

It’s one of the mini cupcakes out of the vending machine — more sugar and icing than actual cake. It’s sitting on a paper plate, with a handful of Skittles scattered around it to make a smiley face, with the cupcake as a nose.

There’s nothing else with it: no card. Nothing to say who it came from.

So… unless Noct somehow sneaked onto a plane yesterday and faked the whole video call, this is the handiwork of someone in the office. But who?

He takes a quick look around at the other desks around him, but everybody’s either busy at work, or doing a good enough job of pretending to be. There’s a girl a few desks over who’s always been polite to him, saying hi every morning, but she’s not in today. And out of everybody else, Prompto can’t see them caring enough about him to take the time.

So maybe Prompto will never know who went to the trouble of setting this up, and maybe it’ll drive him crazy for a little while. But… he can live with that.

It might just be a vending machine cupcake on a plate, but somebody did that for  _ him, _ and it means somebody cares.

Somebody cares about him.


End file.
